Clear like a glass of Vodka
by klondike18
Summary: Natasha Romanoff does not do teamwork. When reality hits you with secrets that she was not aware of having, why should she trust the Avengers? The people who "claim" to be her family? Love and trust are just liabilities that can get you killed.


To Natasha Romanoff, in the beginning, the Avenger Initiative started as a mission like many others that were previously assigned to her. The order was to report to SHIELD periodically, informing them of what was happening within the group and, in the meantime, to save the world.  
Just a few times.  
The first task was a simple thing, the second... A little less. The red-headed spy was not used to working with others.

Natasha Romanoff had not become the world's greatest spy by asking for help or trusting other people.

She always relied on herself, and herself alone. Teamwork was not her strongest suit.  
But if the spy was not used to working with others, she was undoubtedly used to working for someone.  
To receive orders.  
Orders were the reason she lived.

It surprised her how quickly the Avenger Initiative became simply the Avengers. A group made up by abnormal people (and a god) who, despite their differences, came together trying to save the general population of planet earth from total destruction. A world that often looked at them with diffidence, scared of their powers.

And Natasha Romanoff was happy. It was a foreign feeling and concept she was not accustomed to, but she was happy. For the first time in her life she felt like her existence had a purpose other than her "job" . She did no longer lived only to follow orders. She lived for herself and for her family, a group of people who trusted and relied on her.  
And perhaps she trusted them.

-

Trust was a fragile thing. A delicate flower that needed constant tending. Reality reminded her of why she did not do teamwork. Why she was not familiar with terms like love.

She had no right to love.

She killed for a living. She destroyed lives and denied other people the chance of love.

And in the end love was a liability.

Reality slammed into her with a cold hard fist, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She rolled on the ground and recovered quickly, jumping back on her feet. She felt the coppery taste of blood trickle down the side of her mouth. Minor graze, it was not the first time she had be hit by a man.

Said man was pacing slowly in front of her, unfazed by his previous actions. Natasha circled from her position, trying to match his pace while searching for a weak spot to use to her advantage.  
Strength was not on her side in this battle. Nor was speed. She could not afford another miscalculation, the blood on her face was a proof of her previous mistake.

Suddenly the masked man stopped his slow walk and turned to face Natasha. He fixed the red-headed spy with his icy gaze. But his eyes betrayed some other emotion that Natasha could not identify. Anger? Sadness?

He lunged forward in another attack but the spy anticipated the move and gracefully dodged the blow.

Once again the man stopped moving while a smirk started to replace the previous frown.

"Always the graceful ballerina. You are still the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, Natasha"

The words echoed in the room. Natasha felt her herself grow angry. Who was this man?

"Should have never left the Bolshoi. Too bad ballet was never your true calling, you were superb on that stage"

Her past as a ballerina was a classified information. Although it was not uncommon for files to be stolen by enemies, why would this man mention her past in the midst of a fight?

"Who are you?" She allowed herself to question this man. She was a trained professional, but somehow this man, with a few simple words, breached trough her defenses.  
She needed to know who this person was.

"Why, my dear Natasha, you do not remember me? How many times did they play around with that pretty little head of yours?"

The spy tensed at those words.

"Remember, my dear Tasha. Remember"

She lost herself in that unflinching gaze. In those cold eyes. Cold like her land, cold like her. Cold like Russia, showing no mercy.

In that familiar cold.

"_Remember_!"

Memories came to her, spilling trough her as if a dam had be knocked down. Secrets that she did not know she had now plagued her mind.

And those eyes never faltered.  
She did remember now.

"Alexei."


End file.
